The Funeral
by Walabear
Summary: Set after the Fall, Sherlock's burial is a time for closure.


The Funeral

John felt like it should be raining. _Why did it have to be sunny?_ It was as if the sky was mocking him. The funeral wasn't a large affair by any means, Sherlock was not the most gregarious person that ever walked the earth. But for some reason, it wasn't enough for him to know, rationally, that there was still happiness in the world, in his city, on his street. John had to feel the heat from the bright, happy sun absorb into his dark clothing.

Mrs. Hudson placed her hand lightly on his arm as they walked across the cemetery. "It was a lovely service, wasn't it? I can't say that Sherlock would have liked it, you know how he is, but the vicar said some lovely things about the passing of time. I never thought that I would see this day, you boys are so young, and I just can't handle it if you continue on with all of this ridiculous, dangerous work –"

She was trying so hard to be strong, she can't imagine what John must be going through, and John turned to face her as she started sobbing. He noticed and appreciated her behavior of the past days, and knew that there was significant emotional slack that he was neglecting. All he could do right now was give her a big hug as she steadied her breathing.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Hudson, I have no business with the Yard now. Even if I did, what kind of dangerous situation could I even hobble to?" He tapped his leg with his cane. "Now I'll just be staying indoors, writing letters to the council about dangerous bike messengers."

With that, Mrs. Hudson laughed a bit and pulled away. They caught Mycroft on the small path through the cemetery and all three continued to silently cross the grounds. As they passed the caretakers building, Mycroft spoke, "She's been here all day, according to my assistant, even before the casket arrived."

John and Mrs. Hudson looked and saw Molly Hooper sitting under a tree to the right of the freshly dug grave, just staring at what would be Sherlock's final resting place. They got quite a bit closer before she heard them and stood up. She was finished brushing the back of her black skirt before she walked to them.

"Hello," Molly said quietly as she kissed Mrs. Hudson on the cheek, "I am so sorry I couldn't be at the service this morning, I had a family emergency last night that took me to Kent and I wasn't able to get back early enough. I only got here about twenty minutes ago."

Mrs. Hudson took her lie with a polite smile, she could see the redness of her eyes and how tense her jaw was, "It's alright, my dear, we appreciate that you're here."

Mycroft cleared his throat and turned to the open burial plot. He waited for Mrs. Hudson to take his arm and they all started to move away from the tree. John offered his arm to Molly and she gingerly took it, and immediately jumped back as though his arm was on fire. Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson turned around at the sound of Molly's loud sob, but John waved them off.

"It's okay, Molly, we all miss him," the words came out of John's mouth blandly. He knew that those words were the lowest common denominator when it came to comfort, but he didn't have the strength to come up with anything better. Molly only continued to sob with her face buried in her hands. She shook him off when he tried to put his arm around her shoulder. He took a respectful step back, lowered his voice and asked her as gently as he could, "Why didn't you come to the service?"

Molly's face came up far too fast. "I'm sorry, I-I, my m-mother called l-last –"

"You've been here all day, you could have come," John looked directly in her eyes as he said this. "I know he was cruel to you sometimes, but you know how he is, he was cruel to everyone sometimes. You could have been there for us, we could have been there for you."

"No! You don't understand, John, I couldn't bear it. I couldn't bear to be in a room with everyone while some old man drones on. I knew I shouldn't have come here either, I thought I might be able to just watch as he was put to rest, but it's not true, I'm not strong enough. I looked at your face once and I knew I had to tell you, even if you hate me."

John stood up straight and looked into her eyes, "Tell me what?"

Molly looked at the ground and started wringing her hands. Her tears still fell down her cheeks, and as she looked up at him, he could see that her features were gaunt, as if she hadn't eaten since the fall.

"Tell me what?" He said it softer this time, knowing she was in pain, but knowing that she had to tell him something. He knew this was his last hope, she knows something, Sherlock didn't jump, he wasn't a fake, he knew it from the beginning. Molly had to have helped him fake his own death, she had to tell him. He stared at her, willing the words to come out of her mouth, _Sherlock is not dead, Sherlock Holmes is not a fake, Sherlock lives, come on, come on!_

"It was my fault, John, you should have been there to save him," once the words started, they couldn't stop, they were just falling out of her mouth, "He came to me and he said he needed me and that he thought he was going to die, but that he could sort everything out if he just had the time to talk to Jim – er, Moriarty – alone. He said you would never let him and that I needed to have a colleague at the hospital to draw you away, that it had to be a threat to Mrs. Hudson, just so he could have time. If I hadn't helped him make that call, you wouldn't have let him go, you wouldn't have let it happen, I know, and I'm so, so sorry," she started to sob again, "John, I let him go see that horrible man and I knew he shouldn't, but I didn't even argue."

_Of course._ John closed his eyes for what seemed like a millennia.

Molly continued to cry, slowly steadying her breathing. He kept his eyes closed and reached a hand out to her, which she took, very carefully. He squeezed her hand as he opened his eyes. She could see the tears in them and she knew she put them there and she felt her stomach churn.

"Molly, it's okay. None of that is your fault. He would have found another distraction for me. You know that, right?"

She felt a bit silly. Once he said it, she knew how irrational it was. Her stomach calmed as he stepped closer to her and enveloped her in a long hug. As they heard more voices, they detached from each other.

"Looks like we're about to start," John said as he looked across to Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson. Greg Lestrade and his wife were just getting to them now, and all were exchanging condolences.

As he turned to Molly, he saw her step back. "I shouldn't be here, I wasn't even close with him."

"No, I don't think so, he appreciated your work in the morgue, he admired your attention to detail."

Molly looked at him in shock, "He really said that?"

"Well… not in so many words…" John admitted. If he is honest with his memory, it may have just been, _"I'll look over Molly's report, it should be adequate."_

Molly smiled. "Thank you, John, but I do need to leave."

He couldn't argue with her further, Mrs. Hudson started to wave him over. Molly was walking away by the time he turned around, and he reminded himself that people need their own time to grieve.


End file.
